


Multiocular

by caswell



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angels, Fallen Angels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 22:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17875736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caswell/pseuds/caswell
Summary: Michael Mell doesn't really believe in angels, but when one comes to visit him, it's impossible not to start- and impossible not to fall in love.





	1. Before the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> YEEHAW BIG BANG EVERYBODY!!!!  
> Thank you to Julia for hosting, and to Fia (wowthatsartbruh) and Michael (solarianprince) for illustrating! You two are the best.  
> Fia's piece: https://wowthatsartbruh.tumblr.com/post/182963165127/johannsen-described-the-boy-as-being  
> Michael's piece: http://solarianprince.tumblr.com/post/182963341113/hmmmhmhmm-my-part-for-the-bmc-big-bang

By the time his second year of college rolls around, Michael is pretty much used to providing for himself. He knows Lawrenceville’s Stop & Shop like the back of his hand, or as close to it as he needs to. It’s at that very ShopRite that his life changes forever, although he doesn’t realize it at first.

He’s picking up shredded cheddar cheese for the chili he’s planning on making later that night when he hears the soft sound of wings from behind him. Michael frowns.  _ Did a pigeon get in here? That’s kinda unhygienic.  _ But, when he turns around, all he sees is a boy around his age, stick-skinny with dark hair and a wise yet nervous look in his eyes; clad in white robes, he stares intently at Michael. “Um… hello?” Michael asks, mouth quirked up at one side; this guy is cute, but a little creepy.

“What’s your name?” the boy asks, without a greeting in return. He blinks, lessening his uncanniness slightly, but not by enough for Michael to be perfectly comfortable.

“Uh… it’s Michael,” Michael answers, gripping the handle of his shopping cart.  _ What’s  _ up  _ with this boy? _

The boy thinks on that for a moment, then says, as if the word is supposed to have meaning, “Nobody.”

“...What?” Michael asks, cocking his head to the right.

“‘Who is like God?’ The answer is nobody,” the boy explains.

Michael pauses for a moment before the meaning clicks. “Oh… my name? Yeah, I guess there’s nobody like Him,” he says, still apprehensive but definitely intrigued by this guy’s strange little self. “Uh, okay. What’s  _ your  _ name?”

The other boy flounders at that. The nervousness in his eyes beats out the wisdom, and he stammers, “I…um… I like the name Michael.” Something in his voice sounds like a deer in headlights if that deer could speak. 

“Thanks, but, um… I gotta get some cheese, so,” Michael says stiffly, and, to try to prove his point, turns to grab a bag. There comes the flutter of wings again, then, and he pauses; glancing around, he sees nobody there beside him, as if the boy was never there.  _ Huh. _

 

The forest seems to be silent when the angel first settles down there, arriving in a flurry of feathers and glory. In a few moments, though, his ears become attuned to the sounds of the woods: songbirds chirp in the treetops, frogs croak in the pond about a hundred yards away, and a light breeze drifts through the sunny day, toying with the strands of his dark hair. He's alighted upon a large rock about a hundred feet from the main walking path, partially hidden by trees and offering him a bit of privacy so he can freak out in peace.

_ O, God, what did I just do? _ he frets to himself, nibbling anxiously at the nail of one of the pinky fingers of the human disguise he's donned for the current occasion. He’d given in to temptation, abandoning his heavenly duties for just a moment to meet a boy, to be in close company with a human- if he could call it that. All he'd done was say some stupid stuff about his name- Michael, right, no longer just a ‘him’- and get tongue-tied when he was asked an innocuous question.

But he could hardly stay away, could he? He’d been watching him for a short while now- say, three years- and finally worked up the guts to appear to him. He couldn't help himself; Michael was a shining example of human beauty if there ever was one. Something about him was so alluring- the way he danced with such sure-footedness alone in his room, perhaps, or the way he leaned from side to side on his bed as he played video games on his television set. (The angel was still learning about ones and zeroes and so on and so forth; televisions themselves had only been invented about 90 years prior, barely a heartbeat in his lifespan.)

Whatever it was, it screamed in the angel’s heart and lungs and demanded to be scrawled on paper. Although it was silly, the angel always kept a notebook and pencil on him in this form with which to log his thoughts and feelings. Currently, it housed pages covered in poetry and doodles of various small creatures: frogs, mostly, but also worms that washed up on forest trails after rain, crows that hung in trees like spectors- whatever grabs his attention. None of his siblings seemed to take an interest in nature the way he does; they’re all too preoccupied with their duties as a messenger of God.

So, the angel perches atop the rock, pencil in hand, and etches out the beginnings of a poem-   _ they say my father created love when He made the humans… _

When he’s finished, he taps his pencil against the paper, once, twice, again, staring down at it, before flipping the page and tapping it again. Even though the poetry was out of his system, Michael, of course, was not. What was so enthralling about him? The angel couldn’t tell, but his looks were certainly part of it, and so he let them bleed onto the paper: fluffy hair, dark eyes, clothes far too heavy for a nice day like this. 

And then he hears a twig snap.

The angel’s back goes ramrod-straight, wide eyes frantic as he looks around the small clearing; at the very beginning of the path splintering off the main, paved one going through the forest, stands a young woman, perhaps 25, looking at him with a curious expression. “What’s with the getup?” she asks. “What, are you supposed to be an angel? You know, your costume would look better with wings.”

Well, no, he’s supposed to look like a human, but the robes certainly didn’t help, he supposes. The angel flounders,  _ again,  _ making a noise that’s vaguely similar to a choking cat, and realizes his disguise is starting to slip.

It’s hard to keep up this form, sometimes, especially under stress. He’s not meant to be using it for this long; angels rarely make the effort to fit in anyway, hence all the ‘be not afraid’s and suchlike. The angel struggles, trying to keep his composure, but that was never his forte; he wants to apologize to the woman, but before he can, a burst of radiance shoots through him like lightning, stripping him of his human form and ripping a shriek from the woman on the path.

The angel blinks his eyes- dozens, nay, hundreds- and focuses on the woman, who now crouches in fear, staring wide-eyed at him the same way he had done to her not a minute prior. “Uh, be not afrai-” he starts to say, voice booming through the trees, but it’s too late; the woman has fled, clearly not in any mood to become a prophet, which wasn’t his intention at all. He recognizes that maybe flaming wheels covered in eyes aren’t the least frightening sight to behold, but it’s still sometimes frustrating that humans get so scared. All he wanted to do was explain himself:  _ Yes, I’m an angel, no, you’re not the next Moses, all I was doing was writing some stuff about a boy I met… _

Yeah, likely story. So instead, he sighs, gives it up, and sits there waiting for the ground to swallow him whole in his misery.

 

**ANGEL SPOTTED IN LAWRENCEVILLE**

The headline in the corner of the front page catches Michael’s attention from the moment he picks up his copy of the generic trashy tabloid he gets delivered to his dorm every week, which he’s mainly subscribed to so he can have something to laugh at when the rest of his life seems inexplicably dreary. It isn’t too often that his tiny town gets newspaper attention outside of the community news gazette, so obviously, he’s a bit intrigued. As he walks back to his dorm, Michael flips the magazine open to the twelfth page and skims the article.

_ A boy, about eighteen, clad in white robes… _

_ A nervous look about him… _

_ A flash of white light, and then flames and eyes everywhere… _

Wait, back up. That sounds familiar. Michael still hadn’t forgotten the incident at the grocery store the other day with that anxious kid in the robes; something still stood out about it, even though he’s had plenty of weird interactions with people- he’s in college, after all. When he gets back to his dorm room, he locks the door behind him, sits down on the bed, pushes his glasses up, and reads closer.

_ Area woman Annette Johannsen has reported seeing what appeared to be an angel in Lawrenceville, New Jersey’s Village Park.  _

_ “I just came across him while I was on a walk in the park,” Johannsen says. “He was sitting on a rock writing in a notebook. I thought his robes were just a costume, so I told him that it would look better with wings. And then he just sort of freaked out.” _

_ Johannsen described the boy as being “stick-skinny- like, the skinniest boy I’d ever seen outside of commercials about starvation in Africa- with pale skin and dark hair, almost black.” She asserts, however, that once he revealed his “true form”, he appeared to her as two nested wheels, on fire yet not burning, with eyes all around the edges. “At that point, I ran,” Johannsen said. “I didn’t want to be struck down by God or anything.” _

_ Why Johannsen assumes she would be the victim of a holy smiting is unclear at this time. _

The rest of the article is pithy, clearly only extended to hit a word count, but the beginning has Michael hooked. There was something that struck him as very, very odd about the way that boy had been accompanied by the sound of wings. He’d written it off as his ears playing tricks on him at first, but if he really is an angel…

Well, if he really is an angel, that brings up a lot of religious questions for his Buddhist ass. Also, it’s the sickest shit that’s ever happened to him, or probably ever in New Jersey, maybe in the entire United States. So, he decides to get to the bottom of this angel business, whatever it takes.

Unfortunately, Michael has absolutely no idea what to do to even start. Was there a spell for attracting angels? He had half a mind to search on the witchy side of Tumblr, but decided against it at the last minute; he didn’t really wanna get mixed up in that magic business. It’s a little too intense for him. As he reads the morning paper the next day- well, it’s another tabloid, admittedly- he realizes that there’s a simple solution: go to the scene of the crime.

The village park is only a twelve minute bus ride away from his university, so he’s there within the hour. It’s a beautiful park, really; the sun shines through the leaves and throws light spots onto the ground, and Michael basks in the warmth of it, uncharacteristic for autumn. He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks around, waiting for something to happen and wondering if maybe he should delve deeper into the forest, when there comes a fluttering of wings. He looks back and sees the angel, clad in robes again, with the same nervous look in his eyes. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Michael asks after a moment of staring.

“They’re talking about me?” The angel cocks his head, blinking, and seems to withdraw into himself. “I really messed up, I think.”

“Yeah, you really caused a stir, man,” Michael says. “Seriously? Revealing your true form? That was smooth.”

“I was  _ startled,”  _ the angel protests. “That woman walked in on me during a private moment.”

Michael cracks up at that, face scrunching up into a laughing grin. “What, were you jacking off in the middle of the forest? Weirdo.”

“You’re going to have to educate me on your… human slang,” the angel says, a tinge of embarrassment coloring his words as always.

“Um, like, masturbating, y’know?” Michael says, and makes a jerking off motion, praying to God there’s nobody around to see him. 

“What? No!” the angel squawks, going red at the thought. “I don’t- I don’t  _ do  _ that. I’m an angel of the Lord, Michael. I need to keep up  _ some  _ level of sophistication.”

“Aw, it’s not that bad,” Michael says, and his smile widens at the angel’s flustered state. The guy may be weird (understandably so, really), but he sure is cute. “But, um… I actually came here for a serious reason. I wanted to see you again.”

“I wanted to see you, too,” the angel says. “That’s why I came. ...Um, obviously.”

“You know, for an angel, you’re not very confident,” Michael points out. “You know you’re the coolest person I know, right?”

“I appeared to a human in a grocery store for no reason and then got all… speechless when you asked for my name,” the angel says, brow furrowing. “How is that ‘cool’?”

“Well, okay, that part was pretty lame,” Michael admits, “but I read what they said about you- the flaming wheels and shit, that’s sick as hell.”

“Actually, as an angel, I’m immune to-”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Michael cuts in. “Seriously, though, like… me talking to you right now is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.” When the only response he gets is flustered silence, he bites the bullet and asks what he really came here to: “Can I see?”

The angel frowns. “You would hate it. You would be afraid of it.” He licks his lips, then looks away, oddly ashamed; Michael can’t see why.

“No, I wouldn’t, I’d be amazed,” Michael says. “I’m not some… some random chick stumbling upon you in the forest. I came here to see you.” 

“Okay, fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the angel says, and takes a deep breath.

Michael thought he wouldn’t need to prepare for this, but he’s finding out very quickly that that’s far from the truth. He stumbles back under the gaze of dozens of eyes- if not more- and winces at the heat of the holy flame that wreaths the angel; it almost hurts his eyes to look at it- him- them? But he can’t look away; he’s transfixed, staring in awe at the sheer majesty. It’s such a contrast to the awkward, sweaty boy who had just been in the same spot that he’s almost not convinced it’s the same person-thing.

“See, I  _ told  _ you you’d be afraid,” the angel says, voice much,  _ much  _ louder now, and Michael is reassured that it is, in fact, the same nervous little angel boy. “You can leave if you want.”

“Are you kidding me?” Michael laughs. “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” There’s something in him that tells him to back away, but there’s a tiny glimmer of an impulse to reach out and touch the flickering fire, and he’s never been good at controlling his impulses- his bountiful pile of Google Play receipts can attest to that. His fingertips barely reach the flame before he’s pulling back and shaking his hand, trying to dispel the burning sensation. “Oh, shit, that’s actual fire…”

By the time Michael opens his eyes again after flinching away, the angel is masked again as a human, still wearing those white robes. “Of course it’s actual fire,” he says, though his tone isn’t harsh. He pauses for a moment, staring at the light burns on Michael’s hands, then takes one gingerly in his own. As Michael looks on, heartbeat kitten-quick, the angel brings it to his mouth, kissing the tips of his fingers with a gentleness Michael had never felt before. A second later, however, he’s all wide eyes and nervous sweat again, letting Michael’s hand drop back down by his side. 

“It’s okay,” Michael tries to say, but the angel vanishes with that same flapping of wings anyway, and he sighs out instead.  _ When is this boy ever going to stick around?  _ he wonders, and sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring wistfully up at the sky.

 

The angel, as always, does come back. He’s armed with his notebook and pencil when he shows up at Michael’s dorm the next Friday, steeling himself before he raps his knuckles on the door. There’s silence for a few seconds before the door opens, revealing Michael in a baggy white tee shirt and pajama pants. “Oh, my God,” Michael says, “how did you get here?” After a pause, he corrects himself: “No, that’s a stupid question.  _ Why  _ are you here?”

“I’m here for you,” the angel says, “why else?”

“What, am I the next virgin Mary?” Michael jokes, but there’s genuine confusion in his voice as he steps aside to let the angel in. 

As the angel takes a tentative seat on Michael’s bed, he says, “No. I just think you’re… interesting.”

“Okay, well, I hope that’s a compliment,” Michael says, sitting down next to him; the angel is acutely aware of the pressure of his shoulder against his own. “Um.. can I get you a drink? Or something to eat? I’ve got Cheez-Its.”

The angel shakes his head. “I’m fine… I don’t have to eat or drink or anything. I sort of just exist.”

“Alright.” There’s a pause, then, both the angel and Michael unsure of what to say next. Truth be told, the angel isn’t even sure why he came; he knew he wanted to be in Michael’s presence, but it’s not as if he’d prepared anything to talk about. What could he even explain to him? How much could an angel and a human possibly have in common? Finally, Michael speaks up, breaking the awkward silence. “Uh, you never actually told me your name.”

“Not to sound pretentious, but you wouldn’t be able to comprehend my real name,” the angel says, self-conscious despite not having a reason to be. “No offense.”

“Try me,” Michael says, one eyebrow raised as he smiles cockily.

The angel shakes his head. “I’m not going to do that, Michael.”

Michael gives an exaggerated groan, leaning his head against the angel’s shoulder. “Fiiiiine,” he says, then chuckles as he straightens up again. “Hey, does this mean that God exists? What about Jesus?”

“HaShem does exist,” the angel says, “and so did Jesus, technically, but he’s not exactly what he says he was.” He should’ve expected all the existential questions, really.

Michael, having just found out the secret to religion, takes a moment to let it sink in, then says, “Huh. I guess I should convert to Judaism.”

He didn’t know he had it in him, but that gets a laugh out of the angel. “Yes,” he says, “maybe you should.” Slowly, carefully, he leans further against Michael, allowing himself to revel in the touch and trying to steady his breathing. For an angel of God, he’s far less dignified than he should be, but he’s plenty of things he shouldn’t be- what’s one more flaw? Well, one more flaw is one more doubt in his hellhole of a mind, and he psychs himself out, stiffening and returning to an upright position.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks, cocking his head. “Are you alright?” 

The genuine concern in his voice astounds the angel; nobody’s cared for him like that. “I- uh- I’m fine,” he half-lies, trying to steady his breathing. “But I should get going.”

He stands up, but Michael reaches out and grabs his wrist. “You keep leaving,” he protests. “Will you ever stay? Will I see you again?”

The angel pauses. If he were to follow his heart, the answer would be yes a hundred times over, but should he really do that? There are more important duties hanging in the balance; he can’t shirk his responsibilities for some… some human boy. Still, before he realizes he’s opened his mouth, he answers, “Of course you will. I don’t know when, but you will.”

Relief settles into Michael’s features, and he brightens up with a smile again. “Good. I’m holding you to that.”

With a smile of his own, the angel says, “You’d better.”


	2. The Fall

It’s funny how much one’s life can change just from meeting somebody special. Could special even begin to describe the angel? There has to be a better word: amazing, perhaps, or grand. Regardless, Michael couldn’t get him out of his head; he was the most exciting thing he’d ever known, hands down, and he’d been gone for almost a year. That’s enough to drive anybody crazy, and, let’s face it, he wasn’t the most neurotypical person in the first place.

Ten months, thirteen days, two hours, and five minutes after the angel left Michael’s dorm, Michael sits cross-legged on his bed, computer in his lap, typing up an essay on Mozart’s music on the fortepiano. Over the clicking keys, a folk punk song plays, and he hums along to the harsh vocals; he almost misses the knocking at his door. He glances up at the door, then sets his laptop aside and stands up to answer it. Ever since he met the angel, he hopes- nearly praying- that it’ll be him at the door, but it never is... until now.

“Uh… hello,” the angel says, tone somber, but brightening up slightly at the sight of him. “I’m back.”

There’s something different about him now, Michael notes; his robes are more raggedy, bordering on ratty, and there’s a hollow look in his eyes that Michael knows can’t mean anything good. A pang of concern hits him, and he frowns. “What  _ happened  _ to you?” is all he can say, not bothering with a greeting.

The angel gives him a crooked smile. “A lot. Can I come in?”

As Michael gestures for him to come inside, he marvels at the difference a year can make. Before, the angel seemed like a skinny ball of nerves, but now he just seems… tired. Again, they sit together on the bed- there’s nowhere else to sit- and Michael presses, “Really, what happened?”

The angel breathes out in a deep sigh, looking anywhere but Michael’s eyes. After a few moments, he says, “I’m sure you’ve heard of fallen angels.”

“What, like Lucifer?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow.

The angel flinches. “No, not like him. I mean, yes, he was one, but… not all of us are like him.”

Michael’s eyes widen in realization. “No way. You fell? What for?” he asks, astounded.

The angel falls silent again and starts to nervously rub the back of one hand with the thumb of the other; after another pause, he says, “For you.”

The two words hit Michael’s chest like a bullet. How’s he supposed to respond to that? This person… thing that he barely knows just ruined his own life for him. And yet, he finds that he’s almost a little pleased. That means he’s worth something, right? Nobody has ever thought that much about him besides his mothers. He must be something special for an angel to fall from grace for him.

Finally raising his eyes to meet Michael’s, the angel asks, “...Michael?”

Michael blinks and shakes his head to clear it. “Sorry, sorry, I was just thinking. That’s crazy, man. Why would you do that for me?”

The angel can only manage a shrug, turning away again. “I don’t know. Maybe I was being rash. But I did it, and it can’t be undone.”

Half unsure of why he’s doing it, Michael places a hand on the angel’s, stilling them. “Maybe I can help you. Do you need somewhere to live?” It might be a bad idea, given that it would be cramped in this one-bed dorm room, but what else is he supposed to do, kick him out onto the street? He’s not a Republican. 

“Um… I don’t actually know,” the angel says. “I think… maybe, yes? There’s not really a guidebook to this, Michael.” Quietly, he adds, “I’m on my own.”

Michael rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice behind it. “Stay with me, then. If you don’t need to eat, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

“Oh, um, that’s the thing,” the angel says, bordering on flustered now. “I don’t actually know if I still don’t have to-” He’s cut off by a growl from his stomach, and his face goes red as Michael snickers. “Hey, now!”

“Nah, dude, it’s fine,” Michael says. “I’ve got deli meat in my mini fridge, I’ll make you a sandwich or something.” He stands up and is about to do so when he turns and asks, “Actually, hang on. I can’t keep calling you ‘the angel’ all the time if you’re going to be hanging around with me. Can I give you an actual human person name?”

The angel thinks for a moment, then nods. “I think, for convenience’s sake, you’d better.”

Michael studies him with narrowed eyes and a hand on his chin, looking him up and down. “I think you look like a… Jeremy.” 

“Jeremiah, huh?” the angel replies, testing it out on his newborn tongue. “HaShem will exalt’. I like it.”

For the rest of the day, the angel- Jeremy, now, he’s Jeremy- tosses and turns the name over in his head. It’s less grand than his old one, less… dignified, but he has to admit, he likes it. He does wonder, though, what exactly gave Michael the inspiration for it. Are the Jeremies he knows all as nervous as him? Is there a celebrity named Jeremy who was unsure of everything he does? Maybe he’s looking into it too much.

He’s midway through a doodle of an owl he’d seen once or twice in the park when he realizes that his body has become… heavy. He yawns to breathe, and frowns as worry sets in. What’s happening to him? Is he sick? He can’t die so soon; he has the rest of his life to live. “Michael, I think something is wrong,” he says, looking over with nervous eyes at his new roommate.

Michael looks up from the floor, where he’s seated with his laptop and typing away at that same music theory essay, and frowns to match Jeremy’s. “Why, what is it?” he asks.

“I feel kinda faint,” Jeremy says, “but heavy at the same time. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Do you think I’m sick?”

Michael thinks on it a moment before his face crinkles with laughter. “Jeremy, oh my God. Dude, you’re  _ tired,  _ you need to sleep.”

Jeremy’s face burns at his own stupidity, and he turns away. “I guess I didn’t think about that,” he says. “I don’t really know how to get to sleep. Do I just lay down and close my eyes and wait?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Michael answers. “You could turn on some white noise, but I suppose you don’t have a phone…”

“No, I don’t have any of your human technology on me,” Jeremy says, and pauses for a moment before adding, “There’s only one bed… should I sleep on the floor?”

Michael shakes his head vigorously. “No way, man. It’s fine, you can sleep there, as long as you don’t mind sharing.”

Jeremy’s blush had faded, but now it comes back; he prays to a god that has probably disowned him that Michael doesn’t notice. “I don’t mind,” he says. (He doesn’t add, of course, that there’s nothing he’d rather do than share a bed with him.) “So I’ll, um, just… go, then,” he says, and stashes his notebook and pencil underneath the pillow before wriggling under the blanket, scooting up to the wall to give Michael space for when he goes to bed. 

It’s pitch black in the small dorm room when Jeremy awakes hours later. He opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, where a poster of an orange tabby kitten hanging from a tree branch stares down at him, colors dull and vague in the moonlight that streams in through the window. Glancing to the side, he notices Michael next to him; even though he’s snoring and his hair is messed up to a disastrous degree, he looks graceful, as if he were the angel instead of Jeremy. Jeremy melts a little, then, feeling his heart warm in his chest. It fills him with a pathos that itches to be let out, so he quietly slips the notebook and pencil out from under the pillows. 

_ i’d never loved the moon so tenderly as when _

_ it’s shining on your face… _

Between words, he studies Michael’s face and the rise and fall of his chest, letting a smile play across his features. Who knew he could look this handsome even when he’s sleeping? When his breathing begins to quicken and he cracks one eye open, though, Jeremy freezes. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up…”

Michael yawns and scratches his chest through the band t-shirt he’s worn to bed. “It’s okay,” he says. “Whatcha doin’? What’s in that notebook?”

Jeremy glances down at the notebook in his hands and closes it quickly. “Nothing,” he blurts. “Um, just art and poetry.”

Michael smiles at the thought. “Oh, really? You’ve gotta let me see it sometime.”

Jeremy chuckles nervously and runs a hand through his hair. “Uh… yeah, um, definitely.” There’s no way he’s going to do that- at least, not now. The thought of telling Michael how he really feels is terrifying, even if it’s pretty easy to guess- for God’s sake, he gave up his entire life for him; who does that who isn’t in love?

“Cool,” Michael says. “Uh… I’m gonna go back to sleep, though. D’you mind…”

“Oh! Right, yes,” Jeremy says, and slips the notebook and pencil back under his pillow. “Goodnight, Michael.”

“Goodnight, Jeremy,” Michael replies, and Jeremy revels in the hint of a smile in his voice.

 

Michael wakes up again when his alarm sounds at 11 in the morning, signalling for him to get up for his noon class. Jeremy had apparently climbed over him to get out of bed, since he’s presently sitting on the floor, doodling a cat in his mysterious blue notebook. “‘Morning, bud,” Michael says, and smiles down at him.

Jeremy matches his smile when he looks up, closing the notebook. “Good morning, Michael. What’s the alarm for?”

“I’ve got class, dude,” Michael says, and chuckles. “Did you forget I’m a student?”

“Oh,” Jeremy says, face falling. “I suppose I did.” The fear of loneliness comes through loud and clear, and Michael feels for him, truly; he knows what it’s like to be alone. He never really had friends for most of school; he has college friends, sure, but high school was absolute shit.

“Uh… well, maybe I’ll just stay and get to know you more instead,” Michael says, offering Jeremy a comforting smile. “There’s this place behind the business building that I really like; they’ve got this really pretty garden.”

Jeremy brightens up at that, and nods. “Can we bring lunch, too? I’m  _ starving.” _

Twenty minutes later, Michael and Jeremy arrive at the garden behind the business building, turkey and tomato sandwiches in tow. Thankfully, there’s a bench there, and they each take a seat there before Jeremy digs into his sandwich. Michael is less ravenous, and instead focuses on the flowers and how shockingly at peace he feels next to his weird angel friend. After a few minutes, he asks, “So, like, how old are you?”

Jeremy swallows and ponders on the question for a second. “Well… I was there when your Earth was born, so about four and a half billion years.” He sighs, though it’s not an unhappy one. “The time really does fly.”

All Michael can do is whistle in amazement. “Jesus Christ.”

“Again, not all that important,” Jeremy says.

“It’s a figure of speech, ya dingus. Um, I’m twenty,” Michael says, and scratches the back of his neck. “You’re kinda robbing the cradle here.”

“What? I’m not robbing a-anything,” Jeremy stammers. “I would never.”

“Another figure of speech,” Michael says. “Like… going for somebody way younger than you.”

Jeremy makes a noise akin to a dog with a bone stuck in its throat and looks away. “I’m not…  _ going for you,  _ either.”

“Mm-hmm,” Michael hums in mock disbelief. Frankly, he wouldn’t mind at all if Jeremy  _ was  _ going for him. Sure, the age gap was a little weird, but he certainly looked and acted like somebody his age, so same difference, right? It’s fiiiine. Still, the awkwardness is palpable after the joking accusation, so Michael is silent for a few more minutes, favoring eating to talking. Finally, he says, “So, can you still turn into that… wheel thing?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I feel different. This was the appearance I put on so as not to frighten humans, but now I think it’s what I physically am.” He sighs again, downtrodden this time.

Michael feels a pang of guilt as he looks at Jeremy. It’s not like he forced him at gunpoint to fall, but he was the reason he did it, and for what? He had to give up all his cool angel stuff, and all he was left with was a socially anxious roommate. “Well… you have wings, though, right?” he asks. “I always hear wings when you come around. Do you still have those?”

“I think I can if I want to,” Jeremy answers. After scanning his surroundings, he asks, “Do you… want to see? Nobody is around.”

“Are you kidding me? Absolutely, I wanna see,” Michael says, and the smile returns to his face; not all is lost.

Jeremy nods and stands up to allow room; the air around him seems to quiver, and out of the shimmering near his shoulders come two large black wings, far more sleek and majestic than the rest of him. The black feathers shine in the bright, late summer sun. “They’re nothing much,” he says, giving them a twitch, “but I guess it’s better than nothing. ...No offense.”

“None taken,” Michael says, and reaches out to run his hand along one of the long feathers. He laughs as Jeremy shivers, and adds, “Is that, like, turning you on?”

“What? No!” Jeremy squawks, going red at the allegation. “I’m an angel! No! It just feels weird. Nobody’s ever touched them before.”

“Not even your mom?” Michael asks, half teasing; he still doesn’t take his fingers from the warm feathers.

Jeremy shakes his head with a small laugh and sits back down on the bench, tucking his wings to his back. “I don’t have a mom, Michael; the Lord made me.”

“Well, I have two,” Michael says. “We can share.”

“What, so I’ll be your brother?” Jeremy asks, brow furrowing at the prospect.

That sounds… very wrong. Michael doesn’t want such a cute boy to be his brother; that’d be weird and gross. Not that he’s about to jump Jeremy’s bones or anything, he just wants to keep his options open- it would be convenient, after all, and angels are pretty hot. “Uh, no,” he says, realizing that he hasn’t replied for a while. “We’ll just share.”

“Maybe I’ll meet them someday. I could use more friends,” Jeremy says.

“I’ll introduce you to my friends from class,” Michael offers. “Not that I have many.”

“What, a nice guy like you doesn’t have many friends?” Jeremy gives him a gentle, reassuring smile that Michael finds hard to not melt under. “I don’t know if I believe that.”

“I get nervous around people,” Michael says. “They make me anxious. But that’s okay! I mean, I’ve got you, so…”

“Yeah, you sure do,” Jeremy says, and Michael knows that with him by his side, getting through college would be a piece of cake.

 

Michael told him one of his friends would be coming over that day, but Jeremy is still startled when somebody knocks gently on the door- he’s never heard it from anybody else but Michael before, and the specific rap of his knuckles, set to the drum beat of one of his favorite songs, is the only one he knows. His nervousness only escalates when Michael opens the door to reveal a young woman more beautiful than he was accounting for. Sure, he’s devoted to Michael, but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate her soft-looking blonde hair or her gentle green eyes, or the way the sleeves of her cardigan fall over her palms down to her fingertips. “Hi, Michael!” she chirps, giving a bright smile, before her gaze falls on Jeremy. “Oh? Who’s this? Did you get a boyfriend?”

“What? No!” “Brooke!” Jeremy’s and Michael’s reactions are simultaneous, and Michael laughs it off, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. Is he really that opposed to the concept of them together? Jeremy’s heart falls. “Anyway,” Michael says, turning back to Jeremy, “this is the friend I was telling you about.”

“Hey, I’m Brooke,” the girl says, and waves a little as Michael invites her in. “I know Michael from Music Theory class. Uh… I don’t know what else to say about myself.” She’s demure, Jeremy notices, like himself, although maybe not to the same degree. Maybe everybody in this world is a little socially anxious. Who knew?

When he realizes that he hasn’t replied, he says, “Oh… I’m Jeremy. I know Michael from, um, our hometown…” He glances at Michael, who mouths something to him. “Metuchen.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jeremy,” Brooke says, still with that pleasant smile on her face. She holds up a plastic container that Jeremy had barely noticed beyond her beauty and says, “I brought snacks. Does anybody want a brookie?”

“...You named them after yourself?” Jeremy asks as Brooke places the container on top of the microwave and hands a bar of some sort to Michael.

Brooke laughs at that. “No, it’s a combination of brownie and cookie.” She crosses the small room and gives one to Jeremy. “See? Brookie.”

Jeremy nods and takes a bite, and it’s as if the Garden of Eden had burst forth on his taste buds; he’d never had anything like it. Really, all he’d ever eaten was sandwiches and cafeteria food, with maybe the occasional pizza- nothing like this. “Amazing,” is all he can say, and grins up at Brooke. “Thank you  _ so  _ much.”

Brooke laughs again, and Jeremy’s smile widens; he already likes this new friend. “You’re welcome, Jerry. They’re nothing special, though; I just got them from my mom. I see her on the weekends.”

Jeremy doesn’t bother to correct her on the name, only nodding as he takes another bite. 

The brookies are demolished in no time, and the three of them sit cross-legged on Michael’s bed afterwards, chatting up a storm the likes of which Jeremy’s never seen before. He hadn’t felt  _ that  _ lonely before, but now that he knows what it’s like to have more than one friend, he craves more. 

“So, what’s it like being in college?” Jeremy asks. Michael never really talked about it except when he had  _ really  _ bad days, so it’d be good to get a fresh perspective on it.

“You don’t know?” Brooke asks in return. “Oh, are you on a gap year?”

Not knowing what the hell a gap year is, Jeremy says, “Um… yes, I need some time to… figure myself out?” He looks to Michael, who gives him a thumbs up; Brooke, apparently, doesn’t see.

“Gotcha. Well, it’s sort of just like high school, in a way; you know, lectures and stuff. There’s just more freedom, like, I can take whatever I want instead of having to take English and history and all that,” Brooke says.

Jeremy hesitates for a second. He has no idea what high school is like, either, but how can he say that? Luckily, Michael saves the day with, “Actually, Jeremy was homeschooled.”

“Oh! Right, silly me,” Brooke says, and her laugh is a bit embarrassed this time. “But wait, how do you know him if he was homeschooled?”

“Um… the, uh, Homeschooled Kids’ Club,” Michael lies. “My brother was homeschooled, and uh, these kids from around town who were also homeschooled would go to each other’s houses sometimes… so I met Jeremy there.”  _ Nice save,  _ Jeremy thinks.

Brooke narrows her eyes suspiciously for a second, and Jeremy is about to add to the lie to make it seem more convincing (and probably mess it up in the process), but eventually just shrugs and says, “Well, that sounds fun.”

“Um, anyway,” Jeremy says, “what sorts of things are you studying?” He knows Michael is studying business so he can open his own record shop, but Brooke doesn’t seem to be the business type. Granted, he only knows one business major, so he could be completely off. Who knows?

His suspicions are confirmed, however, when Brooke says, “I’m a bio major!”

“Bio?” Jeremy asks. “Like ‘-ology’?”

Brooke snorts with laughter. “Yes, like ‘-ology’. I’m going to be a vet and work with animals.”

Jeremy perks up at that. He’s visited the forest a few times since he started living with Michael, but not nearly as many times as he’d liked to; he misses the excitement of seeing animals out and about. “Really? That’s so cool,” he says, realizing that he’s picked up on some of Michael’s language. “What’s your favorite animal?”

“Well, I’m sort of a dog person,” Brooke says, and, at Jeremy’s deflated look, adds, “but I like cats, too!”

“Oh, good,” Jeremy says. He hasn’t met cats much in person, only a stray or two who lurked in the forest, but they’re by far his favorites. He’s usually the one who ends up demanding cat pictures from Michael’s mothers, stealing his phone when he’s not looking to beg for them. “So you’ll be working with them?”

Brooke nods. “Yeah, mostly cats and dogs. But speaking of work…” she glances down at her watch and sighs. “I should get going. I’m swamped with homework; my bio teacher loves to assign us essays.” She rolls her eyes, then stands up, grabbing her container from the microwave on the way out. “Bye, guys! See you soon, Michael.”

“Bye!” Michael and Jeremy say again in unison, and Michael looks over at Jeremy expectantly. “So? Did you like her?”

“Michael, she was so  _ cool,”  _ Jeremy says, and Michael laughs. “What? She is!”

“Oh, she totally is,” Michael says. “I’m glad you liked her. I was a little nervous at first, honestly…”

“I’m not  _ that  _ asocial,” Jeremy says, “I just don’t know many people.” Changing the subject completely, he says, “You know? I think I want to go to school.”

“Okay, buddy, I totally support you, you know that,” Michael says. “But you don’t legally exist. I don’t know how you’re planning on doing that.”

Jeremy sighs, mood falling again. “I guess you’re right.” He smiles, though, and Michael puts a gentle hand on his back.

“Hey, buddy, I’ll figure it out someday,” he promises. “And in the meantime, you can listen to me bitch about class.”

Despite his disappointment, Jeremy chuckles. “I’ll be glad to hear it.”


	3. After the Fall

The first thing Michael notices when he gets back from his algebra class is that Jeremy is taking a nap, laid out like a starfish on the bed, which is, in his opinion, very fucking cute. The second thing he notices is that his notebook isn’t where it usually is, stashed under the pillow, but has instead been placed on top of the microwave. He shouldn’t look, he  _ really  _ shouldn’t, but it had been three months since Jeremy moved in with him, and he still hadn’t shown him anything from it besides a couple drawings of Michael’s cats when provided with a picture. The curiosity was getting to him big time. So, he picks it up off the microwave and sits down on the ground to crack it open.

The first page is covered with Jeremy’s scrawling handwriting; idly, Michael wonders where he even learned how to write. It’s hard to decipher, but he manages to make out bits of a poem:

_i'm setting myself up for despair, i know, loving a thing so evanescent, but is it a sin?_ __  
_probably, but when i see him, i know that i could be cast out for him_ __  
_and not regret it for a moment._ __  
_here's another secret:_ __  
__something in me yearns to fall.  
Michael raises his eyebrows. “That’s some gay shit, there, Jeremy, my buddy,” he mumbles, not wanting to wake the other boy up, and flips to another page.

_ i’d never loved the moon so tenderly as when _

_ it’s shining on your face _

_ and splayed out over your chest; _

_ G-d in His heaven couldn’t hope to create _

_ a truer perfection _

_ than its touch on you. _

At this point, Michael’s face begins to burn, and he glances away. His heart does a stupid little dance in his chest, and a smile splits his face; his best friend/cool angel roomie is in love with him, of course he’s going to be giddy. A voice in the back of his head tells him that he’s being delusional and that it’s not really about him, but he shuts it up with the knowledge that Jeremy barely talks to anybody besides him. Who else would he fall in love with? He flips to a third page.

_ o, my heart, it beats with your voice _

_ like drums, like footsteps _

_ like rain on a tin roof, sheltering me from the storm. _

“Oh, Michael, you’re here,” comes Jeremy’s voice from behind him, and Michael whips around, holding the notebook behind his back.

“Uh, hey, Jeremy, um, nice to see ya,” he says, and tries to inconspicuously place the notebook back where it was on the microwave. Jeremy seems not to notice; he’s still laying down, one arm thrown over his forehead like a damsel in distress. Again, pretty cute.

“Um… nice to see you, too,” Jeremy says, confusion coming through in his voice. He sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “How was class?”

Michael shrugs. “It could’ve been worse. Math is boring, though.”

“I should probably feel lucky that I don’t have class, huh?” Jeremy asks with a laugh.

“Yeah, no kidding. Count your blessings, Jer.”

The rest of the day goes by without event, mostly filled with the two of them talking as Michael does homework, but he can’t get his mind off of his newfound knowledge. Should he confront him about it? He’d have to confess to reading his notebook, which was pretty shitty of him, and who knows if Jeremy would forgive him? Still, he can’t wait forever for Jeremy to say it himself; he knows the guy pretty well, which means that he knows that he’d probably be too nervous to do it anytime soon, and Michael wants to get going  _ right now,  _ because who would want to waste time?

The fragments of poetry float around at the forefront of Michael’s mind for the next few days. Suddenly, every gesture, every touch, every word has a deeper meaning. Is Jeremy flirting? Is he just being nice? Is he weird about boundaries because he wasn’t socialized as a human, or does he lean against him so often because he wants to feel the touch of the person he loves? Does it make a difference? Of course it makes a difference, but feels nice all the same.

The truth finally comes out one night as they sit on the floor, looking up at Michael’s laptop, which is situated on the bed, Google Chrome open to Amazon Prime as they watch The Matrix Reloaded. The weirdly tender sex scene near the beginning has Jeremy visibly enraptured, but all it does for Michael is remind him of the budding romance between them. It may be an awkward time, but, steeling himself, he says, “I know you like me, Jeremy.”

Jeremy cocks his head as he looks over towards Michael. “Of course I like you, Michael,” he says, “you’re my best friend… one of my  _ only  _ friends.”

Michael hadn't thought about how hard it would be to explain to this dumb angel baby without saying the L word, which, frankly, he's terrified of. It makes things too real. He shakes his head and says, “No, I mean, like…  _ like  _ like.” 

“Like  _ like  _ like?” Jeremy repeats, frowning in confusion. “What?”

“Love! You love me,” Michael says, and his heart thuds in his chest as Jeremy’s eyes grow wide. “I read your notebook.”

“What!?” Jeremy’s voice pitches up with nerves, and he scrambles for an excuse. “You- I- those weren’t about you!”

“They totally were, but it’s okay,” Michael says. “The poems were really good, and, um… I love you, too.” Well, the words are out; it's scary, but true- he’s in love. Maybe he always has been.

A grin spreads across Jeremy’s face to replace the shocked expression. “You do? Really? You’re not joking or anything?” He seems to vibrate with excitement, barely the same nervous person as he was a few moments before.

Michael snorts with laughter. “What? Why would I joke about that? I really like you, dude, for real.”

“I can’t believe it. Really, why?” Jeremy asks, and Michael is reminded of the other boy’s drastically low self esteem.

“Because you’re the coolest person I know,” Michael says. “You’re my best friend, and you get flustered really easily, which is adorable. You always know just what to do to make me smile. And… you actually like me, which is rare.”

Jeremy pauses, turning the information over in his mind. “I suppose I can accept that.”

“And why do  _ you  _ like  _ me?”  _ Michael asks, not because he has a particularly low self-esteem, but because he would sorta like the ego boost.

Jeremy thinks on it for a second, gathering his words. “You’re handsome,” he says eventually, which gets a laugh out of Michael. “No, I mean it! You’re really handsome. And you’re nice, and you’re fun. I hadn’t ever had fun before I met you. And you’ve always been there for me, even when I was scared and had no idea what to do.”

Michael, of course, is floored. Nobody’s ever told him anything like that before. Everything about Jeremy is new; he can’t get enough of him. “I, uh, thanks.”

Jeremy doesn’t respond, but instead wiggles excitedly as he asks, “Okay, so what now?”

“We could kiss,” Michael says, leaning closer to his best friend/crush/maybe boyfriend soon? The prospect makes his heart soar; he’d never had a boyfriend before- the closest he’d gotten was a friends with benefits sort of situation with his high school drug dealer- and who better to share that experience with than Jeremy?

“We sure could,” Jeremy says, voice faint, and bridges the gap between them to give Michael a gentle peck on the lips.

Michael laughs. “Alright, that’s very sweet and all, but I’m gonna show you how this is  _ really  _ done.”

Jeremy’s smile goes crooked at that; the nerves have picked back up again, it seems. “How it’s really done?” he asks, withdrawing into himself slightly.

“Don’t be shy,” Michael says softly, and takes his hand. “Just stop me if I go too far, alright?” Jeremy nods, so Michael brings a hand to the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss; it’s awkward, of course, because Jeremy has had approximately zero practice, but Michael is a surprisingly good kisser himself, so he works with it. Jeremy stiffens as Michael runs a hand through his hair, and he breaks to kiss to say, “Sorry, is that bad? Do you not like having your hair touched?”

“No, no, I like it,” Jeremy says. “This is just… intense.”

“We’ll take it slow, then,” Michael decides, and smiles. “We’ve got all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jeremy sighs in relief and smiles back at Michael. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

 

Life with Michael has been pretty good so far. They’ve been together for three months-  _ together  _ together, that is- and, for the most part, it’s been glorious. It’s just… something in Jeremy’s mind won’t let him let go of the fact that he fell. Four and a half billion years of life, and he’d given up all he had for some human. Granted, Michael was a very good human- his eyes fall on him now, lit up by the moonlight once again, sound asleep beside him- but should he really have sacrificed everything for him?

Unsure of what else to do, Jeremy slides his pencil and notebook- he’d gotten a new one recently, as he’d filled up his previous ones with love poetry and sketches of Michael’s profile- out from under his pillow and opens it up to a blank page. 

_ fear and _

_ a feeling once forgotten _

_ slips over me like sand, _

_ fills my head and _

_ my mouth with glass _

It’s not his best work, so it’s barely even worth the fact that it wakes Michael up. Squinting into the darkness, Michael says, “Man, what have I told you about writing in bed?”

Jeremy sighs and closes his notebook. “Sorry, I just… I don’t feel so good.”

Michael straightens up into a sitting position and grabs his glasses from the nightstand. “Why? Are you sick?”

Jeremy shakes his head as he shoves the notebook and pencil back under his pillow. “No, I mean mentally.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Michael urges, and places a gentle hand on Jeremy’s back. 

Jeremy marvels at how lucky he is to have a boyfriend that’s willing to comfort him this late at night; he surely doesn’t deserve this. He’s just a nervous little dumbass- Michael shouldn’t have to deal with that. “I don’t want you to feel guilty about this, because it’s not your fault,” he begins.

Michael frowns. “What’s not my fault?”

“I just feel really bad about falling,” Jeremy says. “Angels aren’t meant to be in love, so I was already doomed from the start, but… was it right of me to shrug off every gift I was given for this?”

Michael looks away, sighing deeply, and says, “I don’t know. I guess that’s up to you.” There’s a morosity affixed to it that Jeremy can detect even though Michael tries to hide it, and it breaks his heart.

Hating himself for even bringing it up, Jeremy says, “It’s not that I don’t like it here. I just don’t like change. And… I wouldn’t want to anger anybody by not being what I was supposed to be.” He stares down at his hands, rubbing one thumb with the other in a feeble effort to calm himself down.

“Well, what  _ were  _ you supposed to be before all this?” Michael asks. “What did you do?”

“I guarded the throne of God, and pulled His chariot,” Jeremy explains. “Sometimes I delivered some minor signs, y’know, but I was never really that special.” He still isn’t, really- unique, yes, in his ability to fall in love, but not special.

“And what do you do now?” Michael asks.

“Um…” Jeremy thinks on it for a moment. What  _ does  _ he do? “I stick with you. I kiss you a lot. I write, and I draw.”

“See? That’s good,” Michael says.

Jeremy continues. “And I smoke marijuana and I play your Apocalypse of the Damned, and I eat your beef jerky when you’re not looking.”

“Seriously? I was saving that for me!” Michael says, and flicks Jeremy in the arm, earning him a flick in return. “But, dude, you do so much more down here. Is it really that bad?”

“It’s not  _ bad,” _ Jeremy says, “but I lost my true form… I lost my, uh, my majesty.” It sounds dramatic and cheesy, but he  _ was  _ pretty majestic. Who wouldn't want to have wings and a ton of eyes? Fools, that's who.

“If it helps, I like this form a lot more,” Michael says, and leans in to press a kiss to Jeremy’s temple. Jeremy laughs as he runs his fingers through his hair; there’s something so comforting about that simple gesture from somebody he truly loves. Maybe he was worth it.

“I really love you, you know,” he says. “You’re good enough to make an angel fall from grace; you should take that as a compliment.”

Michael poses with one hand on his hip and the other on the back of his head, and grins. “Is it because of my hot body? Or maybe it’s my stunning personality. Or  _ maybe  _ it’s-”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Jeremy says, and laughs. “But seriously, I do really love you.”

Michael’s grin melts into a warm, tender smile, and he kisses Jeremy on the lips this time. “I love you, too.”

 

As much as Michael tries to hide it, he’s plagued by anxiety a decent amount of time. He gets nervous talking to cashiers or speaking up in class, even though he knows there’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s like a reflex that he’s tried desperately to train his brain out of. There’s one particular anxious thought that’s been giving him hell lately, wriggling at the center of his stomach: does Jeremy age?

It’s a strange question to think about, but it’s something he needs to answer to. If he were to stay with Jeremy for the rest of his life- which is a decent possibility, since he doesn’t have any other close friends- would he have to see his boyfriend stay young forever while he gets old and gross? Michael’s not sure if he could deal with that. It would be super weird, and how could he possibly not become crushingly insecure? He likes to think he’ll age well, but if he’s 80 and Jeremy still looks 20, he’ll probably go insane with embarrassment. 

In a somber echo of his announcement of love, Michael confesses his worries one day over lunch, which consisted of grilled chicken salads from the cafeteria. “Um… so, do you, like, age?” he manages before nervously stuffing a bite of lettuce into his mouth.

Jeremy thinks on that for a moment. “Uh, I think I would. I don’t see why I wouldn’t. Why do you ask?”

Michael sighs in relief, the tenseness seeping out of his shoulders all at once. “I just don’t want to get old and see you still so young,” he says, and is fine for a moment before he realizes what he’s implied. “I mean, not that I’m saying-”

“That we’d grow old together,” Jeremy cuts in, and looks away, flustered. “Do, um, do you  _ want  _ to grow old with me?”

That’s a tough question. Michael hates to say it so soon, since they’ve only been together for a few months, but really, who else would it be? Regardless of whether they were always in a romantic relationship, he couldn’t just not be best friends with Jeremy, not after everything Jeremy gave up for him- and he wouldn’t  _ want  _ to not be best friends with him. When he realizes he hasn’t answered Jeremy’s question yet, he quickly says, “I guess I do, man. Who else would I do it with? You’re the most amazing person I know.”

“I’m really not,” Jeremy protests weakly, but Michael silences his worries with a kiss.

“You really, really are,” he says. “You’re literally an angel. An  _ angel,  _ dude. And you’re fun, and you’re cute, and you’re kind, and you’re sweet.” Once he gets started, the praise rarely stops; it’s hard to imagine that just a few months ago, he was scared of telling him, of speaking his mind in a way that left him vulnerable.

“Okay, fine, fine,” Jeremy laughs, blushing under the warmth of Michael’s words. “I want to, too, alright?”

“Yeah, buddy, I’m alright with that,” Michael says. Gently, tenderly, he kisses his boyfriend on the cheek, knowing as soon as his lips grace his skin that everything will be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love you!


End file.
